DEVIL PLAYING HOUSE

do you smell / smoke?:  from behind, or below,

        bouncing around the building that is not a building but is trying very hard to be.

Memory-walls, nostalgia-roof, hope-floor.

Fear-shutters blown open,

        and in the corner is a devil playing house.

Apron on, reconfiguring where the furniture isn’t

        so now there’s something off about the room.

The devil gestures, self-effacing contradiction:

        hello stranger / welcome in / where’s the oven?

        This is not another infestation;  this one’s a brain-eater

and it’s demanding a bit of pretence; roleplay of the fittest with attention to detail.

        Believing in something is halfway to making it real:

the wallpaper curling and the place filled with heat,

        placemats to be laid and carpets to vacuum.  Housekeeper, nursemaid,

        squatter’s rights to the illusion.  Stove shriek.  Smoke after all.

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